


What If God?

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-06
Updated: 2007-06-06
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Daniel's return from the higher plane has some serious implications.





	What If God?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: Biblio generously gave me this plot bunny a looooong time ago. It was a brilliant challenge, and I hope I did it justice! Many warm thanks to Biblio for the idea and especially for the patient hand-holding and constructive feedback along the way. Also, huge thanks to Darcy for her thoughtful advice in helping me to be even-handed with a delicate subject. Last but never least, a grateful thank you to PhoenixE for the invaluable suggestions, the final polish, and for pulling me out of the style weeds. :-)

**Story updated 2-May-2009**

* * *

What If God?  
By Marcia

 

********

1423 GMT 30-Apr  
Cheyenne Mountain

The walls of the holding cell area looked just like the walls of the rest of the SGC. Gray, dull, institutional, depressing. Jack O'Neill briefly contemplated the benefits of painting the rest of Stargate Command in bright blue, or something equally less depressing to distinguish it from the fittingly dismal color of the detention area. But at the moment, there were more pressing matters. 

He looked up from the contents of the file he'd been looking over and peered through the window at the cell's occupant -- the man with the answers. And he'd better cough 'em up. A concussed lieutenant laid up in the infirmary with a dodgy memory had nothing to offer the investigation, so this guy was it. 

With a nod of Jack’s head, the SF guarding the door swiped his key card through the lock mechanism, and the cell door clicked open. Jack pulled the door handle and stepped into the cell accompanied by another armed SF, who took up a position by the door.

Marine Corps Captain Matthew "Skids" Regan rose from his bunk and stood at attention, saluting his superior officer. 

“Colonel, sir,” he said.

Jack gritted his teeth and offered a half-assed return salute before saying, "At ease, Regan. Have a seat." Jack indicated the bunk and Regan sat down while Jack reached over and dragged the anything-but-comfortable metal chair from the corner. He set it down across from Regan and sat. Opening the file folder again, he glanced at its contents one more time.

"Why 'Skids'?" Jack asked, apropos of nothing.

"Uh...sir, one of my Navy buddies was a pilot and he took me up in an F/A-18 Super Hornet. I was thinking about becoming a weapons sensor officer, so he was doing me a favor giving me a feel for the job, and he needed the flight time. Anyway, mid-flight something happened to him -- I learned later it was some heart fibrillation thing. I had my pilot's license, but only for small commercial aircraft, so I radioed in and they talked me down. We landed okay, but not before I'd skidded off the tarmac. It turned out my friend was okay, but he couldn't pilot anymore because of his heart. He called me "Matty Skids" after that and it stuck," he smiled a little at the memory, then caught O'Neill's eye and sobered. "Anyway, we saved the plane, sir."

"Sounds like _you_ saved the plane, Captain."

Regan swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Jack looked at the file again for a moment and said, “So Lieutenant Bierle’s your brother-in-law, too?” The young officer nodded. “Your wife’s brother?”

“My sister’s husband, sir.”

Jack closed the file folder. "Okay, my bag of warm and fuzzy is empty. How about we just get to it?" He smirked sarcastically, setting the folder on the floor and leaning forward in his seat. "Why is our lead civilian scientist in intensive care with a bullet hole in his chest?"

Regan shifted nervously before reaching for the cup of water that had been sitting on the bedside table and taking a sip. Jack took a small measure of satisfaction he could still cause grown men to shit their BDUs for daring to make eye contact. Well, anyone but Daniel.

Daniel. 

Jack straightened up in his chair, his jaw clenching at the mental image of his partner -- his best friend, love of his life, reason for living -- fighting to stay alive. Again. Tubing, wires and machines draped over and under and around and in him, monitoring him, pumping meds into him, keeping him breathing...

"Your buddy Bierle shot Dr. Jackson," Jack clarified.

“Yes, sir, I know.”

"I want to know why."

Regan held out his hand in helplessness. "I- I don't understand it myself. With all due respect, Colonel, you'll have to ask him."

"Not possible. He died on the table." 

Regan's jaw dropped and he stared off in stunned surprise. "Oh, God,” he whispered.

Jack could see the wheels turning in his head. His best friend. His sister’s husband. What was he going to say to them?

But Jack didn't give a shit. In fact, he rather enjoyed delivering the news, even daring to offer it up with a deliciously frosty smirk. Yep. He was happy as hell about it. Happier still it was Daniel who somehow had managed to get to his Beretta and shoot the crazy son-of-a-bitch and maybe save his own life. Maybe...

Jack's smile faded, his worry for Daniel fast overshadowing the petty delight in Regan's loss. Before him was the man who had the answers to what happened to Daniel, and Jack would have them even if he had to bring in Teal'c and send the SFs away for about an hour.

Jack leaned in, a very dangerous look on his face. "That leaves you, Captain. Why'd he shoot Dr. Jackson?"

Regan closed his eyes momentarily, shook his head and sighed. He cleared his throat before looking up at Colonel O'Neill. "Sir, I honestly don't know how to explain it."

"Well, try!" Jack roared, startling the young captain and causing him to spill his cup of water.

Momentarily stunned, Regan blinked then shakily set the dripping cup back on the table. Sitting up straight, he began, "He- he'd been acting really strange lately." 

"Go on." Jack kept his voice low, threatening.

"Uh... Ever since... ever since Rick -- Lieutenant Bierle -- was briefed on the Ancients, on Dr. Jackson's return from the dead, he… over time, he sort of became... fixated."

"Fixated?"

"He's... he was... raised in a really religious home. His dad was a pastor of some small church somewhere in the middle of Arkansas.” Regan shrugged, “Not exactly one of your mainstream churches. Kind of an off-shoot of an off-shoot.”

Jack knew the type, he thought with a sneer.

Regan continued. “This death and ascension thing...it sort of threw him. He started making odd correlations between Dr. Jackson and... and Jesus. He just...he--"

Jack carefully stood and leaned in very close to Regan's face. Regan shrank back in an attempt to create distance, but Jack closed in further and didn’t wait for an answer. "Spit it out, Regan!" Jack shouted, again startling both Regan and now the SF standing at the door.

This idiot jarhead was wasting his time. He wanted to be with Daniel. He wanted to sit with him, hold his hand, stroke his hair, whisper encouragement and words of love in his ear. But he also needed to know what happened. Hammond needed to know. Why did Bierle shoot Daniel? Why did Bierle and Regan barricade themselves and a bleeding Daniel in that temple? Why did the two men prevent their teams from effecting a rescue?

It was the only thing Jack could do for Daniel right now. Or maybe for himself.

*************

Seven months previously...

Lieutenant Rick Bierle absently chewed his cheeseburger and cast a glance over his shoulder at a back corner of the Mess, still oblivious to his friend's attempt to get his attention. A cucumber slice hitting him squarely in the left cheek seemed to do the trick.

"Huh? What?"

Matt chuckled. "I said, what's your problem? You keep looking over there and staring at them." 

Rick glanced back at the corner table again and Matt followed his gaze; it was SG-1, the flagship team. The team _he_ was on. Doctor Daniel Jackson. The guy who figured out how the Stargate worked, the man responsible for humans traveling to other planets, the one who died, and yet was sitting at a table with his teammates, twirling spaghetti onto his fork and chattering away animatedly. Very much not dead.

Amazing. 

Matt quirked an eyebrow at his distracted friend. No doubt the briefing on the Ancients was a bit disconcerting. Rick had only been at the SGC for a month, so all the reports and orientation classes, the strange weaponry, the whole E.T. thing, were enough to wig anyone out. 

Matt shook it off. Rick always had his feet on the ground. He would adjust eventually. In the meantime, the disturbing amount of staring at the archaeologist had to stop.

Matt flicked the tip of Rick's left ear and when his friend turned back to face him, Matt growled. "Knock it off, it's getting creepy."

Rick cast another quick glance at SG-1 and turned back to his lunch. "Sorry, it's just...I don't know. It's..." He stared at his cheeseburger.

"What?"

Rick shook his head, trying to find words, then, "It's not right."

Matt glanced at SG-1 and back at Rick. "What's not right?"

"It's just not... right."

"Look, you've been acting weird since Colonel O'Neill's presentation a couple of days ago. What's up with you?"

Rick shoved another french fry in his mouth and chewed slowly. Shaking his head, a faraway look in his eyes, he swallowed and took a sip of his Coke. After a moment, he finally spoke. "I'm having a little...problem."

"No kidding," Matt commented dryly. "Care to be more specific?"

"I'll deal with it."

"Is everything okay with Katie?" Just a week prior, his sister and brother-in-law had disclosed they were pregnant. Matt was overjoyed at the prospect of being an uncle, so he thought maybe his brother-in-law had more than just work on his mind.

Rick looked confused for a moment, his cheeseburger poised at his open mouth. Correction: apparently, impending fatherhood was not on his mind. No. No, it was definitely Jackson. Matt frowned.

"Rick..."

"I'll be all right," Rick assured, looking at his friend. "It’s okay."

Matt stared at the man he'd known for over a decade. They'd been roommates at Virginia Military Institute. They’d hit it off instantly as friends, shared the same interests, double-dated, and while Rick was reluctant to spend holidays with his own family, he happily spent them with Matt’s. 

Rick had blushed charmingly when he worked up the nerve to ask Matt’s father for permission to date Katie, then a month after graduation, Matt was Rick’s best man. Duty took each of them to different parts of the country and the world, yet they'd remained close. Naturally, over the years they’d both grown and changed, but some things still stayed the same. 

He knew Rick still felt very strongly about... Could that be what was bothering him?

"Look, Rick, you’re my best friend. I know you.” Jesus, how was he supposed to broach this subject? “I know that you were raised with some... pretty strong beliefs." He watched his friend eye him while he navigated the delicate subject. "I’m just guessing here, but what was discussed in that presentation about Dr. Jackson’s... um..." Matt hesitantly pointed upward. "...is that’s what’s bothering you?"

Rick said nothing, he just toyed with his napkin.

For the first time, Matt began to worry about his recommendation for Rick to transfer to the Mountain. The world -- the universe -- being revealed to the men and women of Stargate Command was astonishing, sometimes breathtaking. But given his friend’s rather disturbingly strict (and strange) religious upbringing, maybe what he was discovering about the true nature of the universe was more troubling to his friend than awe-inspiring.

What Matt had experienced -- what Earth had experienced -- since the inception of the Stargate Program at times was unsettling, even frightening, but it was also fascinating and exhilarating and hopeful. The universe had always been a mystery waiting to be revealed and here they were involved, exploring, learning, teaching, helping and being helped. Matt was always open to the idea of different worlds and life beyond the boundaries of this solar system. God was all-powerful and all-knowing, so why be so small-minded to think Earth and its inhabitants were God's only creations? That all we knew as humans was all we were supposed to know? That maybe we had more of a stake in the galaxy -- in the universe -- than previously thought?

But then, there was Doctor Jackson. His death and his ascension. A man. Dead and arisen. Like...

He looked intently at his friend, the need to reassure overtaking him. "Rick, he's not God."

"I know! But he died!" Rick whispered urgently. "And he ascended!"

Matt bit his lower lip, leaning into the table. "Yeah, but it’s not the same as..."

"It's not?!" his friend argued vehemently, but in hushed tones. "He was dead! And came back to life. And not like when someone has a heart attack, gets CPR and comes back to life! He was DEAD dead!"

Matt nodded while Rick cast another glance at the nearby tables to see if anyone was listening.

"Don't you see?" Rick ran a hand over his face in obvious frustration. “I just don’t know!”

"Rick..." Matt stopped. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his chin. "You know, the last couple of years here at the SGC, I've seen a lot of things I never imagined were possible. I remember being...I guess...a little freaked at some of this shi-- stuff. It's okay, really. It’s normal. Well, for what we do."

"Matt, this is more than just 'stuff'. This is..." He looked around again at Jackson, who had torn off a bit of garlic bread and popped it his mouth. "It's a miracle."

Matt made a face. "Uh, dude. No."

Rick looked at his friend. "Can’t you see the comparison?"

"I see the comparison, but have you met Dr. Jackson? I mean, he's a nice guy and everything, but he’s very human. He didn't turn any water into wine at the Christmas party." Matt smiled at his friend hopefully.

Rick narrowed his eyes. "Not funny, Matt."

Matt sobered. "What do you want me to say? I can only promise you he's not God. And he doesn't pretend to be God."

"That's not what's bothering me."

"Well, what *is* bothering you?"

"What's bothering me is what if God's not--?" Rick cut himself off, obviously not wishing to finish his sentence.

That was it. Rick was shaken. Rick -- who’d managed to get past his rigid, screwball, Jesus-freak father and cold, distant mother, who’d come to know God at a soul-deep level, worked diligently at strengthening that bond, believed in the Gospel with all his heart, attended church every Sunday, participated in weekly bible study, held fast to opinions rooted in an unswerving faith -- was shaken to his core. A human of flesh and blood walking the halls of the SGC had died and ascended to a higher plane of existence, and fell to Earth a year later. Alive.

"I just need to work this out," Rick told him. "I'll be okay."

“I’m here to help, man,” Matt offered with a tight smile, reaching across the table and gripping the other man’s arm. Rick returned the smile, but it was a troubled smile. 

Matt nodded and after a moment, resumed eating his lunch. Rick was a smart man, a thoughtful man. He’d work it out just like he said he would. Matt trusted him. Hell, the man was going to be a father! He'd definitely turn it around, figure out his priorities. He'd make the distinction between the physical universe and the spiritual realm. 

**********

Present day...

"You didn't think to say anything to Major Alvarez about your concerns?" Jack asked, not bothering to hide his distaste of the officer sitting dejectedly in the bunk.

"I-- I thought about it, sir, but I wanted to believe he could work it out. I know now that was a mistake. I *know* it, sir, and I deeply regret not doing what my gut told me to do." 

"Well, that's just great, Captain!" 

Jack sat back in his chair, his jaw working. Confining himself to sarcasm was not at all satisfying. Jack ached to put his hands around Regan's neck and squeeze. 

"So what did your gut tell you to do?"

Jack's simmering anger was palpable as Regan lowered his head and closed his eyes. "I'd do anything if I could go back and change it, sir. I swear, if I had any idea Ri-- Lieutenant Bierle was going to do what he did, I would have stopped him."

Jack was unmoved. "So, in the seven or so months since that day, your gut didn't speak to you again? Nothing pinged your radar? You didn't see any change in his behavior at all?" Jack leaned in menacingly. "He was your brother-in-law, Captain."

"Yes, sir. Well...I mean, no, sir. I mean--"

"Damn it, Regan..." Jack stood up angrily, knocking the chair over in the process. "Tell me about the last seven months." 

Regan shifted uncomfortably, took a deep breath and resumed. "Well, sir, he grew quiet. Real quiet. I-- I noticed him reading the bible more. Even my sister was bothered by it, but she thought it had more to do with him being a first-time father. 

"Of course, he wasn't able to talk to his own pastor. So I figured since we were best friends at VMI, and since we'd gone to church services together, maybe I could make myself available to him -- help him make sense of things. I even encouraged him to talk things over with the base chaplain, but he seemed to be...I don't know...content with reading the scriptures.” Regan stared off for a moment then said, “Sometimes neglecting a lot of other important things.” He didn’t elaborate on that, he just shrugged. “I thought he was calmer, getting some peace with things, but one day..."

Jack waited, raising his eyebrows at the captain to go on.

"He quoted the First Commandment. You know...the one 'you shall have no other gods before me.'" Regan shrugged. "At first, I wasn't sure where he was going with it, but then I thought maybe this was his attempt to let me know he'd reconciled things."

"That's all he said?"

Regan stared off into the corner. "Yes, sir. I had no reason to think he meant anything else by it. Or that it was any kind of...declaration he was going to hurt someone."

"But that's what it was."

Regan nodded regretfully. "In retrospect, sir, yes."

Jack picked up the chair, turned it around and sat, straddling the chair and crossing his arms along the back. Whether the man before him had a military career left or not after all this was over, he gave Regan credit for cooperating. The man had refused a JAG lawyer and clammed up; yet he was trying to help.

Jack continued, "SG-8 and SG-11 went to PR6-541 for a four-day mission to study another Ancients temple. What happened?"

*************

1349 GMT 28-Apr  
Stargate Command Gate Room

Rick was very excited. As the newest member of SG-11, Rick had already been on at least a dozen missions off-world, but for some reason, this mission had him particularly jazzed.

In SG-11's gear-up room, Matt waited and watched his friend pack with enthusiasm and shook his head in amused bewilderment. 

"Geez, Bierle, you'd think you'd never been through the Stargate before," Major Alvarez teased, pulling on his jacket and grabbing his pack.

Rick looked up from lacing up his boots and smiled at his team CO. "See you in the gate room, sir." Alvarez nodded and left.

"You *are* unusually giddy, Rick." Lieutenant Andrea Hochmann observed, closing her locker. "How much longer?"

Rick gave his laces a final tug and looked up at her. "How much longer for what?"

"The baby, ya goof!" she chided, grabbing her pack.

"Oh." 

Matt frowned, watching his friend reaching into his locker. Where was Rick’s brain these days? The man had been so damned distracted over the last several weeks, Matt doubted if he even remembered his wife was pregnant, let alone when she was due. 

"Um... twelve-- no, ten days," Rick said absently. 

Hochmann chucked him on the shoulder. "What's going on with you?" 

"Nothing, Andi. Just focused on the mission," he smiled up at her and shoved his bible into his pack. "Right?"

Matt saw Hochmann cock her head at him, her lips drawn in a thin line. After a moment, she headed for the door and nodded, "Right."

Knowing he would only get the same answer, Matt shrugged his pack a bit tighter onto his shoulder. Rick was fishing around again for something in his locker. "You almost ready?" Matt asked, following Hochmann.

"Yep. Go on, I'll be there in a second."

"Okay. Don't be late." 

Rick nodded and Matt left.

As promised, Rick was in the gate room shortly after Matt. Lt. Colonel Fischer, leader of SG-11 and his team, were already there waiting. Dr. Jackson, who was to be accompanying the two teams, could be seen in the control room talking with Colonel O'Neill and General Hammond.

It was close to 0700 and General Hammond's voice came over the P.A. 

"Gentleman... and lady." Hammond, ever the Texas gentleman, nodded at Lt. Hochmann, who smiled and returned the nod. "You have four days on PR6-541 to collect as much data as possible and any key artifacts for study. I don't have to remind you Anubis is looking for information about the Lost City, too, so be on guard. Check-in will be every six hours. Good luck, people."

"Thank you, General," answered Alvarez.

"Thank you, sir," was Colonel Fischer's reply. 

Fischer turned and addressed the two teams. "The Ancients outpost is approximately four klicks south-southeast of the Stargate. The terrain is hilly, but mostly grassland. It shouldn't take too long to get there and set up camp."

The dialing of the Stargate had commenced, and as the third chevron clicked into place, Dr. Jackson finally arrived in the gate room. He was making his way toward the waiting teams when Colonel O'Neill's voice boomed over the P.A. "Four days, Dr. Jackson," the colonel pointedly announced into the microphone. 

It was evident to Matt and everyone what they'd been discussing in the control room. Apparently, Dr. Jackson lost the argument.

Jackson glared up at the window at his team leader, frowned irritably, then went back to fumbling with his pack. "I can count, Jack," he mumbled under his breath. 

"What was that?" echoed through the gate room above the din of the spinning outer ring of the Stargate. O'Neill had good hearing.

"I said, you can count on it, Jack," answered Jackson, beaming an innocent smile up to the control room's window.

Matt smiled a little to himself. No one else but Dr. Jackson could get away with talking like that to Colonel O'Neill. They had a unique relationship, but Matt dared not think too much about it. There was too much history there -- too many experiences, too much grief and loss and sacrifice and triumph -- to even begin to guess at the extent of the bond between them. 

But he’d lay odds they were doing it. 

He saw O’Neill frown uncertainly at his teammate, and Jackson gave him a quick wave and another smile before turning towards the Stargate.

Yep, they were doing it.

Another chevron clicked into place.

"Good morning, Dr. Jackson," Rick grinned amiably at the archaeologist and Matt's stomach dropped ever so slightly.

Dr. Jackson looked up from securing the strap of his pack. His momentary struggle to recall Rick’s name was painfully apparent. Then he smiled warmly while chevron number six locked. "Good morning, Lieutenant. You ready?" 

Rick nodded confidently and looked to the Stargate. "Yes sir, I am."

The Stargate burst into life and Matt glanced over at his friend. The shimmering event horizon revealed an odd expression on Rick's face. It was -- creepy. Matt frowned, his gut clenching with inchoate apprehension while he followed the teams through the gate.

*************

1907 GMT 28-Apr  
Planet Designation PR6-541

Matt secured the F.R.E.D., and he and Hochmann carried the last cases of supplies into camp. They'd arrived at the area of the Ancients outpost almost two hours before, and after establishing a perimeter and having a quick meal of MREs, the teams were busy setting up the base camp. 

It was mostly sunny and warm on 541. Fluffy clouds dotted the sky, and a cool breeze blew across the lush meadow where they were encamped. Trees similar to cottonwood, elm and ash edged the meadow, rocked gently by the wind. Colorful birds flitted about the smaller trees and seemed unfazed by the human intrusion. The whole scene was refreshingly serene, reminding him of springtime in his boyhood home of southern Illinois. 

Matt took a deep breath, soaking in the peace while he and Hochmann made their way to the command tent. The scenery did a lot to help quash Matt's earlier bad feeling, particularly after seeing Rick dutifully occupied with pitching tents and helping to set up the perimeter. His friend didn't seem to be focused at all on Dr. Jackson, who was already making his way toward the temple.

Matt smiled his relief and followed Hochmann into the command tent, setting his cases down just inside the doorway. 

Colonel Fischer and Corporal Eaton were standing at a table studying aerial photos of the site. Fischer glanced out the open doorway for a moment, then looked at Lt. Hochmann starting to empty the contents of the case she'd been carrying. "Hochmann, just leave that for now,” the colonel instructed. “Go keep Dr. Jackson company." He nodded toward the temple. "It's never a good idea to leave that guy alone."

"Yes, sir," she answered. Adjusting her weapon over her shoulder, she gave Matt a knowing grin and exited the tent.

Matt smiled back. It was clear Fischer had received "The Talk" from Colonel O'Neill about SG-1's archaeologist. Since Jackson's abrupt return from the higher plane, O'Neill rarely allowed him to be loaned out to other teams. Only Major Carter's scheduled presentation to the Joint Chiefs in DC kept the rest of SG-1 from being tagged for this mission.

"We're due for a check-in in about 45 minutes," Fischer said, consulting his watch. "Captain, can you get me a progress report from Major Alvarez?"

Matt said a quick "Yes, sir", pulled his P-90 over his shoulder and headed out of the tent. 

Making his way over to the area where the sleeping tents were, he happened to glance over his shoulder at the temple, spotting Rick running a hand along one of the temple columns near the entrance. Rick was looking up, then down and across, in careful examination.

Matt felt his stomach clench at the sight of his friend just as it had in the gate room. But Rick wasn’t doing anything Matt or anyone else from the Stargate teams hadn't done before. Exploring some old structure. Seeing something written by someone who'd carved it thousands of years ago -- it had filled him with awe in his first experiences off-world. You couldn't help but reach out and touch, to try and connect, build a bridge across the millennia. 

Sure, some of the guys were blasé about it after a while, but Matt always found it exhilarating. And considering all they'd seen in the Stargate program, communicating across time didn't seem all that impossible anymore. 

Yet, even from this distance, Rick didn't seem interested in the writing carved into the columns, more the structure itself. Of course, it was a harmless thing to do, it just seemed odd. What was he doing? And why did he have his full pack slung over his shoulder? Hadn't he stowed that away yet?

Just then Rick looked up and saw Matt. He ceased his tactile examination and waved amiably across the field.

Cupping his hand to his mouth, Rick called, “Incredible, isn’t it?” He raised a hand indicating the temple entry.

Matt relaxed slightly at that and shouted, “Yeah. Just be careful about touching stuff!”

Rick nodded and waved him off, then casually trudged off in the direction of the other encampment.

Matt watched Rick put some distance between himself and the temple. Sighing heavily, Matt glanced around looking for Major Alvarez and spotted him climbing out of one of the sleeping tents. He trotted over to him.

“Major, Colonel Fischer asked me to get a progress report?”

Alvarez started in the direction of the command tent. “Ah, yeah, I was just headed over there. It’ll be a really short report. No sign of Anubis yet, so let’s hope this is another cakewalk mission.”

“Yes, sir,” Matt grinned and fell in line behind Alvarez while they made their way back to the command tent. Breathing deeply, Matt gazed appreciatively at the pastoral scene. But a brief glance at the temple revealed Rick was back where he’d been just a few minutes before. Matt stopped in his tracks, startled. 

What the hell...?

Hidden in the shade of the woods, Matt watched his friend glancing cautiously about, seemingly checking if he was being observed. Then, thinking himself unnoticed, Rick pulled his pack off and crouched down low. Matt couldn’t see what he was doing, but a moment later, Rick was up and had slipped through the entrance to the temple.

No. No, no, no. 

Alvarez had reached the command tent and Matt called after him. “Major Alvarez, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at the Ancients temple.”

The major glanced over at the structure. “Not too long. We still have to finish setting up camp.”

“Yes, sir,” but Matt was already moving.

He took off at a sprint across the clearing towards the temple. God, something was happening. Something...

He raced along the portico, dodging giant vases and statues of mythical beasts, and pulled up breathless in the antechamber, finding Rick studying an interior wall.

"Rick, what are you doing?" he panted. He had no idea what his friend was up to but he didn’t think Rick was admiring the art. One thing was sure, whatever Rick intended to do in here, it was something he probably shouldn’t, and it would involve Doctor Jackson. Somehow he had to talk to Rick -- get him away from there -- before something terrible happened. “Rick, come on out of here. I need to talk to you.”

Rick glanced over his shoulder at the man behind him, his hand still on the wall. 

“Matt, you shouldn’t be here,” he gravely stated. 

"Why not?" Matt snapped, unable to hide his fear.

Rick looked up at the ceiling and spoke calmly. "I have a...task...something I have to do."

"What? What do you have to do?" the captain gritted out, his gut roiling. What was Rick planning? "Come on. Fischer and Alvarez will be looking for us."

Rick shook his head, his attention squarely on whatever he had in his mind to do. "This is more important."

"What is?" Matt didn't wait for a reply. "Look, whatever it is you're planning, stop. Let's just... talk about it first, okay?"

Rick sighed and let his hand drop to his side. He turned to face Matt. 

"How long have we known each other?" he asked. "At least a dozen years, right?"

"Yeah, but..."

“You should trust me.” Rick squatted down near the entry to the inner chamber and set his pack on the ground, then looked intently at Matt. "Matt, this is *really* important."

For a moment, Matt believed him. Or wanted to believe him. The sincerity, the confidence. The certainty, the purposefulness. It shown on his friend's face like a beacon of virtue, of earnest and honorable determination. Rick's eyes calmly and rationally asking his friend to trust him, asking his friend to... have faith in him. That he was about to do a wondrous thing, just... believe.

And Matt did. For one moment. One frightening moment. What was the expression? Folie à deux? A madness shared by two?

Matt shook it off, eyes wide in near panic. His voice did not betray it, though. "Rick, let's just go outside, sit down and talk about this. Come on." He took a few steps toward the exit.

A momentary ripple of disappointment skittered across Rick's expression before his face shuttered closed. "There's nothing to talk about, Matt. It's gonna be okay. Really," Rick assured, before starting to fish around in his pack.

"No, we really need to talk about this first," Matt insisted. "What's the plan?"

"Plan, sir? What plan?" 

Surprised, both men looked up as Andi Hochmann appeared in the doorway of the temple's inner chamber.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, stepping into the antechamber. 

Before Matt could even react, Rick was on his feet and had struck Hochmann with the butt of his Beretta. She fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Shit! Goddammit, Rick!" Matt rushed to his fallen teammate and knelt down beside her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, Matt," Rick answered, going back to his pack and pulling something out of it.

"You have lost your fucking mind," Matt ground out, gingerly touching the knot growing above Lt. Hochmann's right temple. Hochmann seemed to be coming around. Looking up, he saw Rick pick up his pack. 

"Where are you going?" Matt called desperately.

Rick was headed for the interior chamber. "Take Andi and get out of here."

“Stop! Now!” Matt stood and said fiercely, “That is an order, Lieutenant!”

Rick stopped, turned and looked at his friend. “I know you don’t understand, but I’m following a higher command.” He stood there waiting, almost challenging Matt to take action.

Matt swallowed. What the hell was he supposed to do? This was his best friend, his sister’s husband, father to his nephew. "Rick, please don’t do this," Matt warned.

"Matt, I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt Andi. I'd planned to tell her the major was looking for her, so she wouldn't be here. She'll be okay. I didn't hit her that hard. Just take her out of here." He started back for the inner chamber.

Matt started to follow but considered Andrea. He threaded his hands under her arms and across her chest and hurriedly dragged her backwards from the antechamber and into the daylight. Hochmann moaned and blinked, reaching a head up to where she’d been hit. Matt settled her down gently on the ground and started back for the temple. He had to get to Dr. Jackson. He had to get him out of there. 

"Hey, Regan! What’s going on?"

Matt turned and saw Colonel Fischer, along with Corporal Eaton and Major Alvarez about 100 meters away. Clearly, they’d just witnessed him carrying Hochmann away from the temple. All three men started urgently walking towards him. 

"Regan, report! What the hell's going on?" Fischer demanded.

"Sir, I-- I..." Matt didn't know what to say. He slowly backed away and called back, "Sorry, sir. I have to go back in there!" Then he ran for the temple.

"Regan!" 

Fischer and Alvarez started to run after him, Alvarez calling on the other team members to get to the temple. Matt ignored their shouts to him and raced inside the temple. Running through the antechamber, he angrily called, "Rick! Whatever the fuck you're planning, you'd--"

Matt made it into the interior chamber and stopped short. Inside, he found Rick far into the room partially obscured by a column and pointing his weapon at Dr. Jackson. Dr. Jackson was about ten feet away. He'd been kneeling, presumably examining what looked to be an altar, but now, he was slowing rising to his feet, eyes wide with confusion, his hands partially upraised. 

Matt pointed his own weapon at his friend. "Rick, don't make me do this."

"Wh-- what's going on, guys?" Dr. Jackson asked cautiously.

"I mean it, Rick." Matt said. Funny, his hands never shook when he used his weapon, even when he was a cadet. Matt tried to steady himself even as he could hear the teams shouting and converging outside the temple.

Rick smiled, "Get down, Matt."

"What?"

Rick cocked his head at the small pack of C-4 attached to the entryway of the interior chamber and held up a remote control in his other hand. 

"Get down," he said again gently.

Matt saw Rick's finger twitch, and he barely managed to dive behind what looked like a solid slab of granite before the C-4 went off.

*************

Present day...

"So this wasn't your idea."

"Hell, no!" Regan replied sharply, then paled when Jack raised an eyebrow at him. He added quickly, "Sir."

Jack pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded. "You blew off Colonel Fischer's order for a report?"

Regan swallowed, "I... There was no time, sir."

"Not even to key it into your mike?" asked Jack.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He lowered is head, shaking his answer.

"So you ran in there to save your buddy."

Regan looked up. "To save them both!" he declared, indignant.

Jack watched Regan scrub a hand through his hair, then looked down and flipped through the pages of Colonel Fischer's report. In the report to General Hammond, Fischer was convinced by Regan's actions that he'd had a part in the attack on Daniel. 

Jack was inclined to agree. Although it was becoming clear that it wasn't Regan’s actions, but rather his *failure* to act. Had he done his duty, had he grown a set and reported his suspicions, things would have been a hell of a lot different. Yeah, so his screwball brother-in-law would be drooling in a bowl of oatmeal at the nearest VA psych ward, but at least he’d be alive. And Daniel... Daniel’d be...

Jack cleared his throat and shifted his glance back to Regan. The other man was finished as an officer, and probably finished as a marine. 

"What happened after he blew the C-4?" Jack asked.

*************

1944 GMT 28-Apr  
Planet Designation PR6-541

Colors sparkled in a field of blackness while a steady ring pealed a low tone in his ears. The world slowed its spinning and soon the sparkling blackness faded to gray, then Matt slowly opened his eyes only to feel grit settle in them, causing them to burn and tear up. 

Ears still ringing, blinking and rubbing away the dust and debris from his eyes, Matt rolled over to a half-seated position and glanced around in confusion. Eventually, he managed to focus and in the dim light recognized the temple's interior chamber. To his left, he peered into the inky darkness and barely made out a pile of rubble where the entrance had been.

What the...?

Oh. Right. Rick.

Matt raised himself up a bit more and scooted back a foot or so until his back rested against the giant granite slab, the one he'd flung himself behind just before the explosion. He felt okay -- seemed to have all his limbs in working order. Maybe some bruising and scratches, but okay.

From this angle, he could see a bit more of the doorway. Completely cast in shadow, not even a speck of light could be seen between the stones. But there was light here. Pale orange light and shadow danced past the cover of the slab and along the walls and the rubble. A flashlight? 

The ringing in his ears seemed to be lessening, the muffled voices were less muffled. Voices. Plural. More than one. Relief crashed through him when he realized everyone who’d been in the chamber when the C4 went off was obviously still alive.

His radio crackled with static, a voice -- Colonel Fischer, he thought -- cut in and out. Matt reached for it and pressed the button and spoke in hushed tones. “Bierle’s lost it, sir. I need some help in here, but I’m not sure where he is.” 

He let go of the mike, then, pulling himself up to his knees, he moved stealthily to the edge of the slab. He saw his friend crouched on the floor, flashlight shining onto an opened bible as he read aloud from the text. But where was Dr. Jacks--?

“…even if there are so-called gods,” Rick recited. “...whether in heaven or on earth (as indeed there are many "gods" and many "lords"), yet for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live. First Corinthians 8, 5 through 7.”

Matt crawled out further and his eyes finally fell upon the scientist. Dr. Jackson was lying at the base of a column, clutching at his chest with his right hand. His face was ashen, the front of his olive drab jacket a sheen of crimson. 

“Shit.” Matt whispered. 

He then heard Jackson wheeze, “Why…are you...doing this?”

Matt turned back to grab his weapon, but it wasn’t there. What the hell? He’d had it in hands when the C-4 blew -- it should be right where he’d fallen! 

He knelt down and started feeling around for the P-90 in the darkness, fingers combing through the grit and rock debris. Where the hell was it? And what the fuck was he supposed to do even if he found it? Shoot his brother-in-law? 

Matt swallowed down the bile in his throat and kept searching. 

*************

Present day...

“Where was your weapon?” Jack asked.

Regan shook his head. “I don’t know. I never found it. Maybe it was under the rubble. Maybe Rick took it from me while I was out."

“Colonel Fischer didn’t hear your radio call.”

Regan shook his head helplessly. “It must have been damaged in the explosion. Maybe it could receive, but not send. But I _know_ I transmitted a call for help.” 

“We’re checking into it,” Jack assured. “In the meantime, your C.O. isn’t sure what to think.”

"I guess not.” Regan cast his eyes to the ground and shrugged. “Apparently, serving under him for two years isn’t enough to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Jack leaned forward in his chair. “Apparently, serving under him for two years wasn’t enough for you to trust him to help when you realized Bierle was stalking Daniel.”

Regan ducked his head down further.

“This all could have been avoided had you opened your mouth months ago -- hell, even if you had said something in the gate room before you left!” Jack glared at the man, who was now rubbing the knuckle of his thumb. “You put friendship before duty, Captain. You put saving your family before saving a civilian you were supposed to be protecting.” 

Regan didn’t look up. He simply nodded and whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“What happened next?” Jack asked coldly. 

*************

1950 GMT 28-Apr  
Planet Designation PR6-541

Matt continued his fruitless search for his P-90, while his sister’s husband continued reciting bible verses. Occasionally, Matt could hear Jackson say something, but Rick seemed to be ignoring him, reading one verse after another without pausing. 

Frustrated, Matt gave up on his weapon and made his way around to near where Dr. Jackson lay on the ground. He saw Rick close his bible, keeping a finger as a placeholder.

“Dr. Jackson, you presume to encroach upon the realm of God. You’re not God.”

“Funny,” Jackson breathed, closing his eyes. “I don’t recall...ever having...claimed to be.”

“But what you’ve done-- You died. You ascended. That’s only for God. And there is only one God.” 

“I think... there are some…” Jackson tried futilely to raise himself up, but only managed to shift enough to rest his head against the column. ”...people who might have... other thoughts.”

“Maybe. But we are all called by Jesus to help them to see the truth.”

“Your truth... isn’t it?”

“ _The_ truth, Dr. Jackson.” Rick turned a page.

To Jackson’s left, Matt emerged from the shadows and rose slowly to his feet. This was it. 

“Rick.” 

Rick glanced up at Matt and smiled. “Matt, you’re okay. Good.” He turned back to his bible. “You can help me.” 

“No.” Matt shook his head and shuffled slowly forward. Rick looked up at him, puzzled. “I’m not going to help you do this.”

The other man cocked his head at him. “You don’t understand how important this is, Matt.”

“What’s important is that you stop what you're doing. Now.”

Rick gaped at him, a look of incredulity on his face. “I can’t stop this! Don’t you see? I have to expose what he’s doing -- people have to know we’ve been tempted.”

“You’re wrong! You’ve made this into something it’s not. You need to stop, take a breath, and think about what you’re really doing.”

Matt’s radio continued to pop and crackle. Fischer was yelling something into it, but the static and interference made it impossible to understand.

His brother-in-law closed the book. “You don’t care about the peril we’re in?” 

“What peril? There’s no peril, Rick!” Matt started towards Rick, but Rick raised his handgun. 

Matt stopped and gazed at the gun, hands raised in placation. He doubted his friend’s resolve, yet... “You gonna shoot me now? This is so important you’re going to shoot me? You want to throw your life away? Toss away your family?”

Rick opened his mouth but didn’t say anything for a few bewildering moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was ominous in the stillness. 

“This is the mission God has charged me with, my purpose for being here. I’ve made peace with what I’m doing and that I might not survive it.”

Matt was stunned into silence as he took in the determination in his friend’s face, his resolute conviction he was justified in murdering someone. 

Rick pointed at Daniel. “This is a false god. He didn’t die. He didn’t ascend. It’s a lie. All of it -- a lie to discredit God, to mock the faithful, to undermine our belief system. And I’m going to prove it.”

Matt’s was incredulous. What the hell did he mean by that? 

Matt glanced down at Jackson, who seemed to be fighting to stay conscious. Jackson needed medical attention _now_. He moved to Daniel’s right side and crouched down to feel for his pulse. His pulse was fast, breathing labored. Jackson’s holster was empty. Where the hell was Jackson’s sidearm? He turned to Rick again.

“Prove it, how? How do you prove he’s a false god if he never claimed to be one to begin with?”

Rick paused, thinking. “Beware of false prophets who come disguised as harmless sheep but are really vicious wolves. You will know them by their acts. Matthew 7, 15 and 16. ”

“It’s...’by their _fruits_ ’... actually.” Jackson corrected weakly.

“’Prophets’, Rick. Not God. Please. Stop this and let me help him.” Matt pleaded, just as he heard noises by the rubble in the doorway.

“Just wait, Matt. If he’s truly God, he’ll ascend.”

Matt was horrified. “What?” 

“We’ll wait till after he dies, and watch.”

“I’m not going to let him die, Rick.” Matt pulled off his jacket and laid it over Jackson, who looked up at him through half-closed lids.

Rick shrugged and lowered his weapon, but still kept it ready. “Whatever the Lord wills.” Picking up his bible again, he opened it to another marked passage and read aloud. ”You said in your heart, ‘I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will...” 

Matt looked down at Jackson. The scientist was pale and clammy, his eyes unfocused.

“...I will make myself like the Most High.’ But you are brought down to the grave, to the depths of the pit. Isaiah 14, 13 through 15.”

“Dr. Jackson, I’m sorry,” Matt whispered. “I... I never thought he would do anything like this. He was never...”

Jackson’s eyes shifted to look at him. His nod was barely perceptible before the man finally closed his eyes, his rasping breaths the only reassurance that he was still there.

Matt worried his lower lip and looked around for something he could use to staunch the bleeding. Jackson’s pack was a few feet to the right, and Matt snagged it and dragged it closer.

He could hear scraping noises from the direction of the antechamber. Matt glanced briefly over at the caved-in doorway, then back to Rick who continued to read aloud passage after passage. His friend seemed to not hear their teams were trying to get through the blocked entrance. Or maybe he did hear and didn’t care.

Still, Matt felt he needed to capture Rick’s attention. This whole thing was beyond insane. What would cause someone to--?

“You’ve lost your faith,” Regan said after a moment of sudden clarity. 

Rick stopped reading and looked up at him. “Hardly.”

“You have. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Of course you did. Why else would you be doing all this?”

The lieutenant blinked and shifted uncomfortably while Matt pulled out a t-shirt from Jackson’s pack.

“You’re not trying to prove to everyone else that he’s not God. You’re trying to prove that God is still God. Because _you_ don’t believe it anymore. Because _you_ lost your faith.” 

Drawing back, Rick looked at his friend malevolently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, I do,” Matt pressed. “If Jackson can die and ascend, then who was Jesus? What was Jesus? That’s what you’re asking yourself.”

Rick was clearly caught off-guard, mouth gaping as his mind seemed to search for the words to put there. He looked at his bible.

Matt took advantage of his distraction to wad up the t-shirt and put it over the weeping wound in the archaeologist's chest. As he lifted the jacket and tugged at Jackson’s BDU shirt, he saw that Jackson’s fingers were on the handle of his Beretta, which was lodged under his right hip.

“That’s blasphemy!” Rick raged.

Matt looked up at him fiercely, “Hey, I’m not the one who cooked up this lunatic scheme to murder someone so I could feel better about God!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Rick shouted back.

Rocks cascaded down the uppermost pile of rubble and light pierced the dark confines of the temple chamber. Shouts rang out from the other side as the teams pushed through. Startled, Rick stood up and looked at the doorway. 

Matt had to get him to listen. 

“Rick, you can stop this now. Put the gun down, and let’s get Dr. Jackson out of here.”

Rick continued to stare at the door, shaking his head. “No. I can’t... I can’t fail my mission.”

“What about Katie? What about your son? Do you want him to grow up without you?” Matt was pleading. 

Rick looked intently at Matt for a few dazed moments. “Son? I’m... I’m having a son?” he whispered.

“Yes. Yes, you are. Katie let it slip it’s a boy.” Matt’s sister had sworn him to secrecy.

“A boy...” Rick said distractedly. “My son.”

“Yes. Your son. Your boy. And I’m going to have a nephew. Come on, man. Please!”

“I...” Tears brimmed Rick’s eyes. 

“Please, Rick, he’s gonna need his father. My sister needs her husband. Please!” Matt’s eyes were also filling. Leavenworth was better than death. He had to make him see that.

“I...” Rick looked at him helplessly, a tear escaping down his face. He swallowed deep then cleared his throat. “I... have a mission. I have to do this for my son. I have to see this through. Jesus died for me. He’ll forgive...” 

The hole in the door widened, more light spilled into the chamber. Matt couldn’t see around the altar, but it was obvious the teams were crawling through the gap.

“Rick, please, I’m begging you. Lemme take you home. We can get you help.” 

“Regan! Bierle!” Alvarez shouted angrily, but Rick had raised his handgun and was pointing it at Jackson. A gunshot shook the chamber, showering it with debris and dust and chaos.

*************

Present day...

Jack reached for the file on the floor, giving Regan a break. The other man had retreated to the bunk, his back to the wall, knees drawn to his chest and his head buried in his folded arms.

Jack flipped through the file for a few moments. He believed Regan. Bad judgment. Miscommunication. No communication. It was conceivable Regan wouldn’t do any time, but whether he was going to be transferred to another assignment, busted down to private, maybe even discharged, Jack couldn’t guess. He certainly wasn’t going to be working for Stargate Command. Hammond took dereliction of duty very seriously.

Regan swiped angrily at his eyes and finally looked up. 

“So, after Dr. Jackson fired the gun?” Jack asked.

“I saw—” Regan stopped abruptly, and stared at Jack. Then just as quickly, his gaze shifted to the floor. “Uh... I saw Rick on the ground. I went over to help, but Major Alvarez pulled me away and told me to get out. The rest of my team and SG-11 were there trying to help Dr. Jackson. Trying to get him and Rick out of there.” He let out an exhausted sigh. “The rest you know, sir.”

Jack studied the man for a few more moments, then nodded and closed the file.

“You refused a lawyer, but JAG dispatched one anyway. You’ll be meeting with him this afternoon,” he told the marine, who responded with a silent nod. “In the meantime, I’ll be talking with General Hammond.”

“Yes, sir,” Regan whispered. 

Jack stood up and moved the chair back to where it belonged, then turned to face Regan. “I won’t pull any punches, Regan. This whole thing tanked because you didn’t act when you had the chance. We depend on the good judgment of our people in the field. Good judgment gets people home safely.”

Regan nodded again, gazing sadly at his hands in his lap. “I know tha... I knew that, sir. And no one is as sorry as I am about this whole damned, fucked up mess.”

Jack looked at the man for a moment, then sighed heavily and knocked on the window of the cell door. A moment later, the SF stationed outside pushed open the door. 

“Colonel?” Jack stopped and turned back to Regan. The younger officer was rubbing at his thumb again. “How is Dr. Jackson?”

Jack swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

Regan looked down. “For what it’s worth, he’s in my prayers, sir.”

Jack stared at Regan for a few awkward moments. Daniel was in his prayers? In his prayers? What the hell good was that? What balls! If Regan had done his duty, there wouldn’t be any need for his damned, useless prayers. What could Jack say to that? What could he say to a man whose silence and misplaced loyalty may have cost him Daniel? 

Overcome by a sense déjà vu, he left the cell without saying anything. He had no idea what he would have done or said had he stayed, but the file folder bore the brunt of his clenched fist. 

He was headed towards General Hammond’s office, but instead, found himself getting off the elevator at the infirmary level. He needed reassurance. He needed to see this wasn’t history repeating itself. He needed to see Daniel.

Janet Frasier saw him coming and met him at the window of the ICU. Jack peered in to look at Daniel. A nurse was hanging another bag of fluids and making notes on a chart.

“His vitals are improving,” Janet said quietly. “Of course, he’s still not out of the woods, but things are going in the right direction.”

Jack nodded grimly. “Can I go in, doc?”

“I just had to shoo Teal’c away, sir.” 

A few moments of silence passed before Jack heard Janet sigh. 

“Five minutes, Colonel. Please, try not to disturb him. He...”

Jack didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence, getting his butt into the ICU before she changed her mind. The ICU nurse had just put Daniel’s chart away and, careful of her patient's welfare, nearly stopped Jack. He appreciated the show of concern for Daniel, but even so, something in his expression made her back off and instead retreat meekly to her station.

Setting his folder down at the foot of the bed, Jack stood there and watched Daniel sleep. They’d been through this before; the nasal cannula, the IV drips, the beeps and whooshes of monitors and machines. No privacy. 

That was the hardest part -- watching and not being able to touch. Jack’s jaw clenched as memories of another time, another planet, another zealotry, of small-minded paranoia and incompetence, of.... death, way too damn close.

“Aw, Danny,” Jack whispered. Unconsciously, he laid a hand on Daniel’s foot and swallowed hard. Then, in a low voice he addressed the ceiling. “Oma, if you’re hanging around, unless you can do something productive like heal him without the glowy strings attached, then do it. Otherwise, go the hell away.”

His gaze fell back on Daniel, who, surprisingly, was returning his gaze through half-lidded eyes. 

“Daniel?”

“She’s... not... here,” Daniel whispered weakly, a small grin on his face. 

Jack moved to the head of the bed and looked for the nurse, who was already moving towards them. Cupping the top of Daniel’s head, he said, “Hey.”

Daniel smiled and closed his eyes. “Hey.”

The nurse was there and touched Daniel’s arm. “Dr. Jackson?” Daniel opened his eyes, and she said, “Welcome back. I’ll get Dr. Frasier.” And she was gone again.

Daniel nodded and closed his eyes again as Jack leaned in close to his ear, lightly stroking his hair. “You sure Oma’s not here?”

Daniel breathed, “Positive.”

“Okay,” Jack said cautiously, wondering - worrying how Daniel could tell, but willing to take his word for it. At least for now. “That’s a good sign, right?”

Daniel opened his eyes again, staring up into Jack’s. “I’m not... going any...where, Jack,” he said, weak but quietly assured. “Promise.”

Jack had somehow managed to thread the fingers of his other hand through Daniel’s. He gazed a bit longer at the exhausted deep blue of his lover’s eyes and swallowed hard. “Okay.” Squeezing Daniel’s hand, Jack dipped his forehead so it touched Daniel’s, reveling in the feel of Daniel’s pulse and the warmth of his breath. 

“I have to go see General Hammond,” Jack said after only a few snatched moments of peace.

Daniel was too tired to protest. Reluctantly, Jack pulled away, giving Daniel’s hand another squeeze before letting go just as Janet and the nurse entered the ICU.

“Sir, I need to check on Daniel,” Frasier said, stepping into Jack’s space. “I have to ask you to step outside.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Jack said, already making his way to the exit. Grabbing the folder on Regan, Jack looked again at Daniel, pleased to find him still watching and even feebly smiling.

Jack returned his smile and let go a huge sigh, his first release of tension since Daniel was hurt, before turning and leaving the ICU.

************

Jack stood looking out of the window of the briefing room, having just finished his report to General Hammond. The general leaned back in his chair, waiting patiently for Jack to say something, but he was silent. He just stood there in a paralyzing rage. 

Teal’c was there, too, seated at the table, scowling, his jaws tightly clenched. His hands were folded, as if loosening them would unleash his own fury. 

Any other day Jack could and would rant on incessantly about properly vetting personnel, about incompetence, about stupid mistakes that got people killed, about inbred, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathers who got people killed. But the only person he wanted to kill was dead. And he couldn’t beat the shit out of the guy who could have prevented all this, because apparently, they court martial people for that.

What could he say? And besides, he wouldn’t be telling the general anything the general didn’t already know.

Jack made his way back to the table and sat down. “Do you believe, after all this, that asshole had the balls to tell me Daniel was in his prayers?” Jack said disgustedly, folding his hands on the table.

General Hammond pondered Regan’s prayers for a moment. “A nice gesture.” Jack peered up at the general, who shrugged. “He can’t change what happened. If he is genuinely remorseful, this is really all he can do.”

“He can shove his prayers up his ass sideways,” Jack said leaning back in his chair. “I’ve about had it with religious nutjobs.”

“Would not the nutjob be Lieutenant Bierle, O’Neill?” asked Teal’c.

Jack shot Teal’c a withering glance, then said to Hammond, “How could someone like Bierle have slipped under our radar?”

The general shook his head. “Everyone goes through the same screening process, Colonel. Their service record is reviewed -- education, medical, legal, family history. And of course there’s the psychological evaluation. The lieutenant’s record was clean, he had outstanding ratings from his commanding officers prior to being recommended for the Stargate Program. You read his file, too.”

Jack’s gaze fell back on the tabletop.

“Jack, from what you described as Captain Regan’s experience with Lieutenant Bierle, even he didn’t expect this kind of behavior from his friend. Obviously, the trigger for Bierle’s... breakdown, for lack of a better word, was Dr. Jackson’s experience as an ascended being.” 

General Hammond sighed. “You know me, Jack. I’m a religious man, I attend church regularly and believe in the gospel, and I’ll be honest: after Dr. Jackson... ascended...” 

Hammond let the thought die, but Jack understood what the older man was trying to say. Daniel’s ascension caused those who had witnessed it to question, to wonder. Jack had been too overwhelmed with grief and anger at the time to care, but later when he allowed himself to think about it, some interesting correlations came to mind.

“Yes, sir.” Jack did understand. “It crossed my mind, but not being that religious to begin with...”

The general dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Someone of Bierle’s background -- missionary parents, devout, dogmatic... Clearly, we need to reconsider our screening process, maybe even the briefings for new recruits, although I’m not sure that will completely eliminate the potential for a repeat.”

“So we need to make sure the existing teams are watching out for this kind of crap,” Jack said.

“I’m way ahead of you, Colonel,” the General said. “I’ve already scheduled a meeting with the team leaders to discuss just that.”

“Good.”

Hammond sat in silence for a few long moments. “We have a more pressing issue.” Teal’c and Jack exchanged glances before the general spoke. “I’ve canceled Captain Regan’s meeting with the JAG lawyer. It won’t be necessary. I won’t be pursuing any criminal charges against him.”

Before Jack could open his mouth, Hammond raised a hand. 

“It’s clear from your report he had no knowledge of Lieutenant Bierle’s plans,” the general explained. “Up until this mission, he’s been a good and reliable officer. Still, it doesn’t negate the fact he showed very poor judgment; serious dereliction of duty. I’m recommending a demotion and reassignment elsewhere.” 

“Sir, I--”

“My concern, Colonel, is that pursuing this matter further would bring in even more players and more light on the Stargate Program, and draw even more unwanted attention to Dr. Jackson’s rather... extraordinary experiences. I’d just as soon not have a repeat of what happened after Dr. Jackson’s return to from the ‘dead’.” 

Jack dropped his sullen gaze to the floor, remembering the very intense, harrowing days immediately following their bringing Daniel home from Vis Uban. Word had spread of Daniel’s return from the higher plane, and the NID wanted him. Wanted to see if Daniel had any latent abilities he couldn’t remember, wanted to question him, test him, and -- Jack would bet his mortgage -- experiment on him. They’d received authorization to remove Daniel to Area 51, and were hours away from doing so, but Hammond had pitched a fit, phoning the president, calling in every favor owed to keep Daniel out of their hands. Jack had never seen Hammond so angry, and so determined.

“We managed to ride out the storm then, Jack,” Hammond said gently. “But I knew the players and I could control the flow of information. Pursuing this... I just can’t guarantee I’ll be able to maintain that level of need-to-know, and God only knows where it could go from there, particularly with Kinsey as vice president and...” 

Two of Jack’s hot buttons lit up.

“Well, maybe a cold dose of ascension reality for Kinsey and some of his right wing, pandering-to-the-base cronies and hacks might be in order,” Jack said sourly. “Hey, Kinsey!” he called to the invisible vice president. “Hang onto to your bible! The Buddhists are right!”

Teal’c’s eyebrow road up his forehead, while the General leaned forward in his chair, placing his clasped hands on the table. “Jack, do you really believe certain people of this world are ready to hear about this? A modern-day man’s ascension to a different plane of existence?”

“Why not? Why not help get some of these people to do some critical thinking for a change. What a concept!”

General Hammond said nothing and Teal’c leaned back in his chair.

“O’Neill, we have seen how one very pious man behaved with the knowledge of Daniel Jackson’s ascension,” Teal’c said gravely, steepling his fingers. He looked at General Hammond. “Widespread knowledge of this could have grave implications among many of the Tau’ri.”

“It could,” Hammond solemnly agreed. “Mostly political. And ideological. We have far too many ideologues in power, and they are masters at manipulation and spreading fear. As things stand right now, Kinsey can’t throw his weight around as he’d like because not enough of his people know about the Stargate Program. At least, not officially.”

“Hypocritical, power-mongering, self-serving dickhead,” Jack mumbled, contemplating the window overlooking the gate room. He hadn’t meant for the general to hear that, but he heard Hammond chuckle lightly.

“I believe it to be a wiser course to, as you say, allow sleeping dogs to lie.” Teal’c offered.

“I agree,” Hammond said.

Jack looked at Teal’c. “T, that’s surprising coming from you. Your experience with false gods... I would think--”

“I do not believe all gods are false, O’Neill,” Teal’c answered, cocking his head. “Nor am I prepared to judge those worshipped by the Tau’ri as such.”

Jack steamed quietly for a few moments before the general spoke. “I know you want to throw the book at him, but I strongly believe revealing the source of Bierle’s... delusions, to an even wider circle of people, would be a serious mistake. At least, at this time.”

Jack pursed his lips. Of course, the general was right. Jack knew it even before opening his mouth to protest, knew it as soon as Fischer delivered his initial report to Jack and Hammond upon their return from the planet. 

This would have to stay quiet, minimize the number of people involved, silence the reasons for Bierle’s delusional behavior, keep Daniel far away from other Bierles. 

Jack felt the general’s gaze on him and looked up. He grimaced and then nodded his understanding. 

“Yes, sir,” he said. “You’re right.”

Hammond cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “I should point out, Jack,” Hammond added with a wry smile, “there are far more reasonable, sensible, compassionate and intelligent people of faith in this world than there are extremists and ‘nut jobs’.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack conceded, suitably chastised.

General Hammond sighed and glanced at his watch. “Well, I’m briefing Colonel Fischer and Major Alvarez on your interview with Regan in about 15 minutes and getting their feedback and ideas. I’ll let you know what comes of it.” Rising from his chair, he looked at the two members of SG-1 who also stood. “Colonel, your written report can wait until the morning. Why don’t you two go see how our boy’s doing?” 

“Thanks, General,” Jack said as Teal’c dipped his head to Hammond.

“Meanwhile, I'd better give Major Carter a call,” the general said, starting for his office and shaking his head in feigned annoyance. “She’s left four voice mails asking after Dr. Jackson, and no one’s returning her calls.” He spared a pointed glare over his shoulder at his 2IC before disappearing into his office.

Jack winced. “My bad.” 

He glanced at Teal’c and chose to ignore the man’s accusing eyebrow. 

“Come on, T,” he said, bumping shoulders with him and heading for the exit. “Let’s go see Daniel.”

********

Jack and Teal’c stood side-by-side at the window of the ICU gazing in at their sleeping teammate. Jack wasn’t interested in what he could see on the monitors, just watching the easy rise and fall of Daniel’s chest was enough. And for some odd reason, it occurred to Jack maybe there was some Higher Power out there that watched over space-traveling, Goa’uld-baiting, gun-toting, too-damned-smart-for-their-own-good archaeologists.

“Daniel Jackson seems to be doing well,” Teal’c said, not taking his eyes away from his friend in the bed.

“Yeah,” Jack said quietly, but with more confidence than he had just a few hours before. “According to him, Oma’s not hanging around, so...”

Teal’c nodded. “So perhaps Oma Desala knows she is not needed.”

“Nope.” Even if she were, Jack wasn’t about to let Daniel go anywhere without him. Package deal, Oma, Jack thought. Me and Daniel. Daniel and me. Where he goes, I go. No negotiating.

The familiar sound of quick heels on linoleum signaled the arrival of Janet Frasier. She offered the two men a warm smile when she joined them at the window.

“He’s running a low-grade fever, but he’s still doing well,” Janet said, staring at her patient. “He’ll have a long recovery, and when he’s released, he’ll need live-in support for a while.” 

She glanced up at Jack, who replied simply, “Already got that covered, Doc.”

“Good,” she said. “While you were gone, Daniel asked what happened with Captain Regan and Lieutenant Bierle. He was worried about Regan, but then he wanted to know if Bierle was in custody.” Jack looked at Janet, confused. “Daniel said to remind everyone Bierle was sick and needs help.”

After a few moments of stunned silence, Jack asked, “He doesn’t remember?”

“Apparently not.”

“Does Daniel Jackson suffer from amnesia?” asked Teal’c.

Janet shrugged, “Could be -- he lost a lot of blood, but I doubt it. Maybe there’s some psychological trauma playing with his memory.

“Maybe,” Jack agreed, turning back to the window. “I’d rather he didn’t remember shooting Bierle. He’s got enough to deal with, just trying to understand why Bierle shot him.”

Janet glanced back at Jack. “Dr. Jackson shot Lieutenant Bierle?”

“Yeah,” Jack explained. “Well, at least that’s what Major Alvarez said. Daniel’s service weapon was on the ground by his side, and it had been fired. Regan was with Bierle on the ground.”

Janet shook her head. “I don’t think Daniel did it, sir.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I operated on Bierle. The bullet entered his chest at a very slight angle downward. According to Corporal Eaton, Bierle was standing just before he was shot. To get that angle of entry, Daniel would have had to have been standing, too.”

Jack stared off in the distance as this new realization clicked into place.

Teal’c looked at Jack. “The others also reported that when they entered the chamber, they observed Lieutenant Bierle on his feet, aiming his weapon.” 

Jack returned Teal’c gaze. “And they heard the gunshot and saw Bierle fall. When they got through all the rubble, they found Captain Regan holding Bierle in his arms.”

“With Daniel Jackson’s weapon at his side and Captain Regan holding Lieutenant Bierle, an assumption was made.”

“Regan,” Jack declared in a low tone. He leaned back against the ICU window.

Janet asked, “Did Captain Regan say Daniel shot Lieutenant Bierle?” 

“No.” Jack said, thinking carefully. “No, he didn’t. And he didn’t correct me when I mentioned Daniel’s shooting Bierle, either.”

Jack turned and leaned on the rim of the window, peering in thoughtfully at Daniel’s slumbering form. Slumbering only because Regan finally decided to act. Because Regan stopped his best friend, his sister’s husband, father of his unborn nephew, from finishing what he...

“Regan saved Daniel’s life,” Jack confirmed.

Somewhat incredulous, Janet asked, “Why didn’t he say anything? Why did he let everyone think Daniel did it?”

“Perhaps it is because he did not want to do it,” Teal’c speculated.

Jack was inclined to agree with Teal’c. Considering Regan’s current situation -- his newly-widowed sister due any day, he’s the reason she’s newly-widowed though she doesn’t know it yet, and he’s about to be demoted to lieutenant (or worse) and reassigned... 

But he saved Daniel. Yeah, kinda late in the game, but he came through in the end. 

Jack suddenly felt a little sorry for the guy. A little.

“General Hammond is meeting with Fischer and Alvarez,” Jack said. “They need to know this.”

“I will inform them,” Teal’c said, stepping away from the window. “In the meantime, perhaps Dr. Frasier will allow one of us to see Daniel Jackson.”

Janet glared at him as he started for the exit. “Subtle, Teal’c.”

Teal’c glanced back at her when he reached the door, his signature smirk on his face.

“Thanks, T,” Jack called to him. The other man nodded and disappeared out the door.

“Hmph,” Janet said, folding her arms and staring disapprovingly at Jack.

“What?” he cried defensively. “Talk to the big guy, not me!”

Before the two could banter further, they both noticed Daniel stirring. 

Janet looked at Jack and sighed. “You can sit with him for a while, just try not to get him too excited.”

“He’s gonna ask about Regan and Bierle,” Jack said, as the ICU nurse appeared at Daniel’s side and reached for the cup of water on the bed table.

“Probably,” Janet agreed, then smiled at him. “You’ll know what to say. Just encourage him to rest, sir.”

Janet started to walk back to the duty station and Jack called, “Once I tell him what happened, he’s not gonna rest.”

Without stopping, Janet called back, “Just change the subject to hockey or fly fishing, Colonel. That ought to do it.”

Jack looked down at the floor then at Janet’s retreating back. “Was that a shot?”

Janet simply waved her hand and disappeared into a lab.

“That was a shot,” Jack said to himself before looking in on Daniel. 

The nurse had finished futzing with a monitor and was making a note on the chart, when Jack entered. The woman made no attempt to stop him. She just smiled at him, finished whatever she was writing, then put the chart away.

All the while, Daniel’s gaze followed Jack, and Jack couldn’t stop looking at Daniel. Jack grabbed the chair from the corner and pulled it next to the bed. Close enough to face Daniel. Close enough so Jack could reach in and touch Daniel’s hand if the urge overtook him.

When the nurse finally went back to her station, Jack lowered the safety rail, and smiled warmly at Daniel.

“So...” Jack said.

“So... ” 

Jack’s smile faltered slightly. “You okay?”

“Tired,” Daniel said, his voice weak and gravelly. “Feel like an elephant... is sitting on my... chest.”

Jack laid his hand on Daniel’s. “Need me to get Frasier?”

Daniel smiled and shook his head, turning his hand up so he could hold Jack’s. He sighed uncomfortably and closed his eyes for a few moments. Jack thought he was drifting off to sleep when Daniel opened his eyes and looked at him.

“Captain Regan?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t hurt.”

“Good,” said Daniel. “He tried to...help.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” Daniel drew his lower lip between his teeth. “The lieutenant...”

Jack frowned. “He’s dead.”

“Oh.” Daniel was silent for a few moments, then, “He was... not well.”

Prudently stifling a wisecrack, Jack ran his free hand along Daniel’s arm. “No, he wasn’t.”

“My... time with the... Ancients... really confused him.”

“More like his sheltered, holy roller upbringing set him up to be confused,” Jack spat.

“Jack...”

“Don’t make this out to be somehow your fault, Daniel,” Jack said pointedly but gently. “It’s not.”

“I know,” he said after a beat.

“Good,” Jack replied. “Now, I’m supposed get you to rest, or else Frasier’s gonna schedule a rectal exam on me. So try to get some sleep, ba—buddy.” 

Daniel arched an eyebrow while Jack cautiously glanced over his shoulder to see if the nurse had been listening. Thankfully, she seemed preoccupied with something on her computer monitor. 

“Close one, Jack,” Daniel said, grinning at him.

Jack smiled back and squeezed Daniel’s hand. “Get some sleep,” he ordered again, careful of his volume. “The sooner you get better, the sooner I can take you home.”

“Pervert,” Daniel whispered, clasping Jack’s hand weakly before letting it go and losing his eyes.

Jack chuckled, patted Daniel’s arm, and settled into his chair, content to simply watch his lover sleep. He had nothing urgent pending. Well, actually, he owed Carter a phone call. Several. And his report to Hammond was due in the morning. But he’d do all that later. For the rest of the day he would stay by Daniel’s side, and thank God or whatever that Daniel was still here to stay by.

Frasier said it was a miracle Daniel even made it through the gate and home. But Jack didn’t believe in that stuff. Hadn’t for years. No, Daniel was one stubborn man, never giving up even when his physical body did.

But that wasn’t going to happen today. Oma wasn’t there. At least, that’s what Daniel said. But Jack thought maybe she could be. Why not? She could easily keep Daniel from noticing her presence if she wanted to. If anyone could keep a low profile, it would be Oma Desala.

Jack stuck his finger in his mouth, then held it up, thinking maybe he could catch a little of that Ancients breezy thingy they do.

“She’s not here, Jack,” Daniel said, his eyes eerily closed.

Surprised and a little freaked out Daniel knew what he was doing, Jack shoved his hand in his pocket. “What?”

Daniel opened his eyes a little and gave him a loving smile, then after a few moments, allowed his eyes drift shut again. Jack returned the smile, and continued to look on as Daniel relaxed and his breathing deepened to light snoring.

Oma or not, Jack couldn’t help but feel someone was looking out for Daniel. Had to be. Tragic childhood, lonely young life, failed academic. Savior of the world. Of many worlds.

Scruffy, nerdy, ballsy, honest, open, brilliant. Beautiful. With a passion for life that pulled a miserable and depressed Air Force Colonel along in his infectious wake until Jack emerged unwittingly back to life. Jack’s savior.

But Jack didn’t believe in that stuff.

Leaning forward in his chair, Jack draped an arm over the edge of the bed and offered up a prayer of thanks.

END


End file.
